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Mini-Van Mommy

You all know that I drive a mini-van. What you may not know is how much I love my mini-van. I do. I love it. Let’s just say that if I could write it poetry and bring it roses, I would. I may not be a mini-van chick, but I’m definitely a mini-van mommy.

And of course, you never realize how much you love someone (or something, in this case) until they’re gone.

Since Tuesday, my Sienna has been at the auto-body repair shop. Sob. While we were camping at the end of July, someone backed into the van while it was parked at the beach. Likely someone with a very large, very sturdy truck. We’ll never know who because the person drove away without leaving a note. The police officer who took the incident report said that there was no way the driver didn’t realize what they had done. Aren’t people great sometimes? When it happened I wasn’t so upset about the damage to the van (banged-in bumper, cracked tail-light and more). Accidents happen, right? What I was upset about was the dishonesty of the driver. If you make a mistake, own up to it. And the whole incident led to a round of questions from the boys, especially from Benjamin who summed it up by saying:

”The person who hit our mini-van should say sorry.” 

Right you are kiddo.

So, the van is in the shop, getting pretty again. And in its place, I’ve been driving a Volkswagen Jetta. I’ll admit, the Jetta is much, much cooler than the mini-van (don’t tell the Sienna I said that!). It has great pick-up, is super sleek, and has an awesome radio that tells you the name of songs as they are played. Handy, eh? Love that! But, I wasn't in the least bit cool in high school, and being cool now is just not on my list of priorities. I want functional. Getting the boys into, and out of the little Jetta is a pain in the tush. Car-seats just weren’t made for little cars. And the boys are seated way too close together. I like them both a lot better when they aren’t within arms’ reach of each other, while I am driving. And I just don’t think that I am a leather-seat kind of gal. It’s August. It’s hot. And I cannot tell you how many times, in the past three days, I’ve burned my…well, you know what I’ve burned. It rhymes with plum.

Benjamin and Nicholas, however, LOVE the Jetta. Like their father, they are not so impressed with the mini-van (maybe there’s a mini-vans-are-just-not-cool gene on the Y chromosome?).  They call the Jetta “The Jet”, and are convinced that it is a race car. Considering that Lightening McQueen is their current idol, the Jetta trumps the mini-van, hands-down. Nicholas calls it our “new car”, and I need to keep reminding him that we are borrowing the car while the Sienna is being fixed. He’s going to be completely crushed when the Jetta goes back to the shop.

So, it is 4:30 p.m. on Friday. The Sienna is supposed to be ready today. The auto-body shop closes at 5:00 p.m., and I am an anxiously waiting by the phone for the call letting me know I can pick-up my two-ton baby. I haven’t wanted the phone to ring this badly since giving my number to Pierre more than ten years ago.

Now, how to break the news to Nicholas?

xo Naomi

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